


What Are We?

by hazeltea (madlovescience)



Category: DOUBLE DECKER! ダグ&キリル | Double Decker! Doug & Kirill (Anime)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-01
Updated: 2019-02-09
Packaged: 2019-10-01 20:59:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 10,176
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17251310
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/madlovescience/pseuds/hazeltea
Summary: Doug and Kirill struggle to define their feelings for each other in the shadow of Doug's lingering grieving of his beloved partner, who was a bit too much like Kirill...





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I'm putting this sticky note here because I've written so many things that were so much more messed up than this, but I've never had so many people ask if I was writing pedophilia on anything else (I even had to disable anon comments because it was getting out of hand). No, they weren't having sex.That's why there's no slash tag. Would it have happened several years into the future if she had lived? Probably. Was it a messed up, co-depenant situation? Yes. BUT.

Doug hadn’t planned on shining his shoes that day. He seldom did, putting it off until it was obvious that it needed doing. He’d been in a good mood, returning to the station from lunch, when his attention was caught by a man in a suit berating a sullen looking boy at a shoe shining station. Feeling sympathetic (and noticing the sad state of his shoes) he stepped up to the stand. The boy nodded at him, and began to work. He still looked shaken, as though he’d been about to cry when Doug arrived, but too stubborn to actually do it. Small, grimy hands quickly worked with brushes and rags, until he looked respectable again.

“Thanks.” There were three twenties in his wallet, and Doug handed them over. He looked down at the money, and, as Doug made no motion to indicate that there had been a mistake, quickly stuffed the bills inside his shirt.

“Wait.” He startled. The voice wasn’t that of a boy, but of a young woman. She looked up at him for the first time, narrowing her eyes as they took in his uniform. “Don’t go to the lumber warehouse tonight. J has about twenty men with semis. It’s a set up.”

“How...?”

“Thanks.” she nodded at him, and before he could question her, another customer approached.

\---  
“I wish you’d stop.” Doug sighed.”You’re in over your head. It’s dangerous.” It was hardly the first time he’d pleaded his case, but Pat shook her head, leaning back against the booth of their secluded table.

“Being a detective is dangerous, too.” she pointed out.

“I’m trained!”

“You saying I don’t know my job?” she challenged. “Besides, I’m protecting you. That’s what partners are for.”

Doug sighed. “Look, I’ll make you a deal, okay? If you don’t get yourself killed by running headlong into trouble by the time you’re eighteen, I’ll put you through the academy. But you have to stay alive until then. That means no unnecessary risks. _Please_. For me.”

She looked at him for a long, hard moment, before nodding with a smile. “I’m sorry, Doug. I’ll stay out of trouble.” She slipped her hand into his, and he squeezed, tightly.

\---

Pat looked peaceful, sleeping curled up in his bed. He'd called to check on her over lunch, and she assured him that the fever had broken, and that she was fine. She still looked woozy as she woke up to take the paper carton of soup from his hands, though. She was wearing one of his thick zippered hoodies, and was still shivering.

“I got you more medicine, too.” he sat beside her, unpacking the paper shopping bag. “You should be able to take more after you eat.”

They sat together, watching a movie as Pat drifted in and out of slumber. Doug’s mind was wandering, and he realized that he was _happy._

“You know... you could stay here, from now on.” He began, quietly. “I don’t like that place where you’re staying now. It’s not good for you.” He set his jaw, recalling the drafty windows and doors, the infestations of bugs and rats, the leaky faucets, and worse than all of that, the four other occupants of the building.

“It’s cheap. And I hear things there.” she shrugged.

“You wouldn’t need to worry about the rent if you stayed here. Or running out of hot water twice a week. I could move things around and make room.”

“It would look bad for you if I lived here.” she added.

It took him a moment to realize what she meant.

“You’re too young to be thinking about things like that!” he scolded.

“Not where I’m from.” she retorted.

“Which is why you should stay.” Doug huffed.

She didn’t answer, and Doug dropped the subject, turning his attention to the television again.

“I’ll think about it.” she said, softly.

\---  
“So I guess your partner didn’t really want revenge, right?” Kirill asked, turning soft eyes on him. “If it misfired, that’s why, right?”

_You’re with me, aren’t you... you never would leave me all alone._

\---  
There was blood everywhere, more blood than he’d ever seen from one body, and it was all over his hands, his coat, his skin. Pat’s body was bleeding out under him, wounds refusing to respond to the pressure he was placing on them, and he pleaded with her tearfully to stay. There was no response from her, and her eyes were unfocused, listless... but there was something else wrong, now. The eyes that stared past him lifelessly were a pale blue, the skin was too light, the blood-streaked hair almost white.

“Kirill.” he choked, shaking him. “Answer me! Stop it! Stop it right now!” Terror gripped him. He was too late, again, he would be left alone, again.

He awoke with his heart pounding, clothing sticking to his skin, his bed uncomfortably hot. He got up and headed for the bathroom, pulling off his clothes as he went. Only once he was under the spray of a cool shower did his dream begin to fade enough so that it didn’t feel real. _It’s getting worse._ He'd been dreaming of Kirill since the Cooper incident, or, more specifically, Kirill in danger. Not the sort of danger they faced at work. Doug knew that Kirill was capable of fighting, of using his size and speed in ways that complimented his own skills. It was always a dream of something that happened away from work. Kirill, shot dead in the street, or beaten and abandoned in an alley. Always finding him too late. It would be bad enough, if Pat didn’t show up in his nightmares, as well.

Doug stepped out of the shower, and regarded his haggard reflection in the mirror. “Did you lead him to me?” he wondered. “Is he my second chance?”

The only answer was the sound of the dripping of the faucet, and the muffled noise of traffic in the distance.


	2. Chapter 2

“Your boyfriend was here.” Deana called, as Kirill returned to his desk from lunch.

“What?” Kirill asked, not quite following.

“Jefferson.” she said, making a kissy pout in his direction. “He was _so_ disappointed that you weren’t here. Absolutely put out.”

Kirill felt his cheeks heating up. “It’s not like that. He’s married. We’re just... just...” he stammered. Before he’d saved him with the help of Doug, Kirill wasn’t quite sure what he’d call him. He really _wanted_ to say they were friends, but that seemed a bit presumptuous. They hadn’t been the sort of friends that saw each other outside of work. Kirill was just sort of... an admirer.

“Gah, don’t take everything so _seriously,_ Buzzcut. I guess he’s _kinda_ cute _if_ you’re into that sort of thing.”

“What sort of thing?” demanded Kirill, unnerved.

“Golden boy goody two shoes.” she yawned, rolling her eyes. “Generic, wholesome hero types.”

“...and you think I’m... into that.” Kirill croaked.

“Deana...” Kay began, worriedly.

“You both need to relax.”

All eyes were on Deana, so Kirill took the opportunity to sneak a glance at Doug, who looked mildly interested in the conversation. He couldn’t tell much else from his expression. Why did it bother him what Doug thought about this? It wasn’t even like it was true...

“I haven’t even told you the best part.” Deana added. “Guess who’s the cover boy for this year’s LVPD Police Department Charity Calendar? And guess what thoughtful coworker pre ordered an autographed copy for one lucky Kirill?”

 _Now_ Doug was laughing, though he was trying not to make it obvious.

“I...” Kirill quickly turned to his computer.

“That’s enough, Deana.” Max sighed. “You can finish teasing him when he unwraps Mr. January.”

Kirill fumbled for his headphones, and pretended that the report he was writing was the most interesting thing he’d ever seen. Ten minutes later, everyone else seemed to have moved on, but Kirill turned the thought around in his head, over and over. No, it wasn’t like _that._ Deana was just being... Deana.

Except... he still hadn’t shaken that train of thought by the time he got home that night. He ate the half of his sandwich left over from lunch, took a shower, and curled up under the blankets, skimming a manga he’d just bought. It was an action packed issue, just the sort of thing he usually loved, but his heart wasn’t in it. Maybe... he slipped a hand down his pajama pants, and stroked himself a few times, just to get himself in the mood. For as long as he could remember he’d done this before bed sometimes, to relax, or to make his daydreams feel more exciting. It was a very long time before he realized that what he was doing was sexual, as opposed to something that just felt nice. Thankfully, he didn’t remember realizing it, or having a horrifying conversation about it being something you did in private, though he was sure that something of the sort must have happened for him to understand. And even as an adult he never had really connected it with a person, or a specific fantasy. Except now he was wondering if Deana was right, and if he really was into that sort of thing, but was just too socially inept to have realized it.

It was just an experiment. No one had to know.

Kirill kicked off his pajama bottoms the rest of the way and gripped himself firmly, and let himself think about what January’s pin up might look like. He’d seen him in various states of undress in the locker room, so it wasn’t too difficult. And he would be lying if he hadn’t always admired his physique, though he’d always assumed it was because his own body was so scrawny, not long, lean, and muscled... Kirill gasped, as his cock twitched in his hand. He really, _really_ shouldn’t be doing this, thinking about a married man who was supposed to be his...

There was a sudden bounce beside him on the bed, and two yellow eyes were staring him down, as a loud rumble of a purr disturbed him.

“Not now.” he hissed. “I don’t care if you’re up here, just... not on the bed, okay?”

Pochi yawned, and turned around twice, flopping down with her tail against his face.

“Okay. I’m trying to... to do something. Why don’t you go chase some mice until I’m done or something?” She made no indication of moving, so Kirill stood up, with a sigh. “Okay. Go eat or something for like ten minutes, okay?” He scooped her up, placed her outside his door, and closed it.

Was he really so naive and clueless that he’d really had a crush on Jefferson this whole time? Or was he just thinking about it now, because the thought had been put in his head? There was no denying that Jefferson was good looking, and handsome, and heroic, but he wasn’t really as exciting as someone like Doug. Kirill’s fantasies, the non sexual ones that he always had, were about being a hero, working with a hero, admiring someone dashing and courageous and daring, who was handsome without trying and also smelled really, really nice. Sort of like how Doug smelled. It wasn’t the sort of thing you noticed, until you spend a lot of time with someone, especially in a car. Kirill’s breath hitched, as his hand tightened, his pace increasing.

“OOWWmoooWWWooooooWOOOOO...”

Kirill stopped mid-stroke, as claws scraped against the back of his door. “Wait a minute, okay!” he hissed.

“OOOOoooowwrroooowOOO...”

“What does she want?” called a voice from downstairs.

Growling, Kirill jumped from his bed, and cracked open the door. “How should I know? She’s your cat!” he called back. Pochi butted the door open with her head, and settled in the warm spot in the center of Kirill’s bed. Kirill reluctantly took his hand off of himself, and struggled back into his pajama bottoms. Whatever passion he’d stoked had passed, now. _It’s just as well. I was... about Doug. What is wrong with me?_

Sighing, Kirill climbed back into bed. “Move over.” he grumbled, pushing the stubborn ball of fur until he could fit somewhat comfortably.

 _He really does smell nice, though. I wish I could smell him now..._ Kirill yawned, dropping off into sleep, dreaming about running into danger with a dark, handsome hero.


	3. Chapter 3

“I’ll walk you home.” The first time he’d offered, Kirill had tried to refuse, but put up little resistance when he’d followed him anyway. Now, Kirill shyly hung behind at the office, waiting for him while trying not to be obvious about it.

“Sure.” he responded, as he always did.

Doug would stop midway at a street cart or convenience store to get something to eat, and would pass half to Kirill to see him smile. They stopped at the door of Kirill’s building, and there would be an awkward few moments as they said goodnight, Kirill’s cheeks turning a bit pink as he kicked a pebble with his toe or pretended to find the brick wall incredibly interesting. He would wait until the door was closed behind him before turning on his heel and walking the opposite way to his apartment, with the knowledge that he was safe a bit of insurance against his nightmares.

\---

“We’re not just going to go to Derick’s on his birthday.” Deana said, firmly. “Except to pick those two up on the way to someplace actually interesting.”

“Kirill should decide-” Kay began.

Doug turned off his computer, and stretched. “Sorry. He’s with me tonight.” He smiled to himself at the way his words flustered Kirill. "Come on.”

The restaurant he’d picked wasn’t fancy, but it was a step or two above where they usually ate. It was a chain joint known for its large portions and strong drinks, two things he knew that Kirill would be impressed by. He just didn’t expect him to be _that_ impressed.

“This is really nice.” Kirill noted, as they were led to their table. “Do you think I should have dressed up?”

“No one else is.” Doug replied, as they looked over the menu, feeling a mild sense of doubt. He remembered eating noodles for two weeks as he scraped together his meager constable paycheck to bring Pat to a dinner that would make her feel like a princess, only to notice how uncomfortable she seemed in the unfamiliar environment, how self conscious she looked even in her newest clothes. He seemed to have found the right fit for Kirill, however, whose attention was caught by a splash page for the all you can eat shrimp and steak special.

“I told them it was your birthday, you know.” he added, taking a sip of his beer. “The whole kitchen comes out and sings to you.”

“What?” Kirill dropped the menu and gaped at him.

“Yeah, _everyone_ will clap, too. Nothing’s too good for my partner.” he smirked.

“Doug!” Kirill whined, but was silenced by the arrival of the waiter. Kirill was able to eat and drink far more than he’d imagined. They went through three bread bowls before their meals arrived and Kirill ate as quickly as the plates were brought out, though he looked a bit on edge whenever someone approached the booth.

“I didn’t really tell them about your birthday.” Doug assured him. “It’s just funny to see you squirm.”

“Really?” Kirill sighed. “You could have told me sooner.”

“I’d never _really_ do something that embarrassing to you.” Doug grinned, as he watched the kitchen door behind them swing open for several workers in white smocks carrying a cake with sparklers and candles already lit.

\---

“I thought this wasn’t supposed to start until after midnight.” Kirill gazed out at the heavy snow whipping around in the wind. Snowdrifts had already begun to pile up against buildings and cars.

“It’s almost midnight now.” Doug noted. Cake had been followed by yet another round of drinks, enough that even he was feeling tipsy despite his full stomach. “I don’t think the busses are running on time in this, but maybe we’ll get lucky and find a cab.”

“You should head back to yours.” Kirill noted. “I’ll be fine. I don’t want you to go out of your way...”

“Then come stay with me tonight.” Doug suggested. “It’s closer.” He started walking before Kirill could object. Conversation was nearly impossible against the biting wind, and he winced as he pulled his collar tighter against him. Kirill struggled against the wind, looking like he was about to be blown off his feet. By the time they reached the apartment, their faces were numb and red.

“Glad we didn’t try to go all the way to yours.” A few minutes later, he’d found a spare t shirt and sweatpants and a spare toothbrush. “Take the first bath, you’re freezing.”

The clothing was much too big, of course. He felt something twist in his chest at the sight of him swimming in it. “Are you sober enough to go up?” he asked instead, guiding a damp, inebriated Kirill to the ladder that lead to the sleeping loft.

“I’m not that drunk.” protested Kirill, swaying slightly. Doug guided him up the ladder before heading to the bathroom, just in case.

When he returned, Kirill was in his bed, blankets pulled around his shoulders. “I can take the floor, or the chair.” he offered.

“Stay.” Doug climbed into the bed beside him, and reached for the remote control. “You’re drunk. You can’t make it to the floor in one piece.” he teased, knowing that Kirill would take the bait and bicker.

He didn’t. “Is that her?” he asked instead, his voice soft. His eyes had drifted to the framed photograph by his bedside. In it, Pat beamed at him. It was taken, he realized, right where Kirill was sitting.

“Yeah.” he answered, his voice thick.

“You really loved her.” Kirill slurred.

“She was everything to me. My best friend.” Doug managed, leaning back against the pillows, the remote forgotten.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said anything.”

“It’s fine. It’s you.”

“Me?”

“Yeah. _You_ can know this stuff.” Doug turned off the lamp, leaving them in semi-darkness. “She was incredible. She was smart, and stubborn, and always running headlong into trouble.” Doug turned to him, unable to see his face, only the moonlight illuminating the edges of his hair like a halo. “She would have been the brightest star in the academy. That’s the future I wanted for her...”

“She wanted to join the academy?” Kirill rolled over, his back almost against his chest.

“She wanted to be a detective. She wanted to protect me.” Doug paused, not trusting his voice. “She did protect me. All the time.” _I’m the one who failed her. She should have had a future. It didn’t have to be by my side, as long as she was happy._

“She must have looked up to you.” Kirill offered, cautiously.

“She made me want to be a better person.” he whispered. He could feel the familiar despair rising inside of his chest, amplified by alcohol. Only now, _Kirill_ was here, and that was a balm against the pain. “Kirill...” he draped an arm over him, “Is this all right?” He knew it was selfish to ask, but found himself rationalizing that he could blame it on the booze. It had been so long since he’d held someone close, not since he’d lost her.

Kirill stiffened for just a moment, before relaxing into the embrace. “It’s good.” he said, quietly.

“Yeah?” he asked, but Kirill had already drifted off to sleep. He tightened his grip posessively, and closed his eyes.


	4. Chapter 4

Kirill sprawled in bed, a warm glow filling his body, and a comforting weight in his stomach where the half sandwich Doug had shared with him settled. His thoughts and feelings were a jumble, and Doug was certainly not helping. He remembered how stunned he’d felt, feeling those strong arms curling around him and pulling him close in a safe, tight embrace, then falling asleep to his warmth and his scent, and feeling so, so good. But the next morning, he woke up alone to the sound of Doug returning from the corner store with breakfast. Kirill felt too awkward to ask him if what had happened meant anything, unsure of what he even hoped the answer would be, and Doug acted no different than he ever did. Equally as confusing was the fact that Kirill had never wondered if there was anything between them before, not like that. Except... a drunken memory surfaced, and Kirill groaned. Oh no, he was _too_ stupid.

 _“There are two things that I want to rid the world of.”_ The way his eyes gleamed in determination, the way he’d set his jaw... Kirill, in his drunken stupor, was momentarily convinced that Doug alone would be able to end poverty and class, saving so many children like he had been... not just a hero, but one who could save someone _just like him._

Was _that_ what that feeling had been back then, that sudden clenching twist in his chest? He had to know. Quickly, he scrambled across his bed to the stack of books on is windowsill, and retrieved the self help relationship guide he’d bought upon being partnered with Doug, eliciting a muffled complaint from Pochi, who was sleeping in a pile with her kittens beside him.

He bypassed the heavily annotated sections about friends and colleagues and turned to Part Two: Romantic and Sexual Relationships. He began reading in earnest, letting out tiny yelps every time he fumbled for a sticky note and pencil. This, _this_ was the information he’d been looking for when he needed advice about winning over a new partner! _Why_ did they hide it in the back of the book with the sex and marriage stuff? He threw down the book on the mattress with a groan, then stood up and began to pace the room.

Okay, so Doug had _welcomed him into his personal space_ and _made room for him_ , both signs that something serious was likely developing, according to the book.  Not just in passing, either, but overnight, and it was _his_ idea. He’d let him in his _bed._ He’d given him a toothbrush! And when Kirill had stopped by to give him a file on his day off yesterday and used the bathroom, the toothbrush was still there, in a cup right next to Doug’s. Well, no one would throw away a practically new toothbrush, would they? But they also wouldn’t use it for themselves. So Doug would have just given him the toothbrush, right? Or was that a weird thing to do? Maybe he felt guilty about throwing away a perfectly good toothbrush, or maybe, maybe he expected Kirill to use it again.

Kirill stopped in his tracks, noticing the way his heart was pounding. Maybe this was it. Maybe he was falling for Doug. The book seemed to think so, at any rate. Was he really happy about that? Or just excited? Maybe scared? Maybe. Maybe all at once.  Worrying at his lower lip, Kirill sat again, resuming reading in intense concentration about the psychology of falling in love. His hand trembled as he scribbled notes.

_* Eye contact - can deepen or ignite a relationship-sense of connection and sharing personal information, displays investment in relationship.  Study participants asked personal questions, eye contact 4 minutes !!! 2 participants married in 6 months!_

He frowned down at his chapter notes. As foolproof as it sounded, four minutes was a really long time to hold eye contact, and the study specified it was all at once. He let out a worried sigh.

“Hey. Pochis. Wake up.” He reached for the nearest kitten, and scooped it up in his hands. It yawned and blinked at him, and Kirill smiled and gazed into its eyes intently, silently counting the seconds. He got almost to two minutes before the kitten squirmed, and batted at his nose.

“Yeah. It’s a long time, isn’t it.” he sighed, returning the kitten to its place among its napping family.

He turned off the light, and leaned back against his pillow, finding himself imagining Doug’s body pressed against him once again, holding him snugly but gently. Doug now called him his partner. He remembered a time when he wanted that more than anything, and wondered when his aspirations had grown. He wanted to be Doug’s partner, his friend, with him through thick and thin, and... not just at work. And Doug was showing signs that he felt affection toward him, as well, wasn’t he? He shared things with him that he hadn’t told other people. That was a sure sign too, according to the book.  Only, something felt off. Something...

Kirill sat upright in his bed. _Of course!_ Why hadn’t he realized sooner? He’d seen this countless times before. The hero with a tragic past that he can’t let go... the man... still in love with the one he’d lost. Unable to move on. Unable to even _talk_ about it unless he was drunk or dying. It made for a great backstory, but... in real life, it didn’t feel that great. Especially not for the one falling head over heels for the hero. He felt his eyes beginning to sting. Heroes like that don’t fall in love. Not twice.

“Doug...” he whispered. “Why do you have to be such a great guy, huh?”

He hugged a pillow close, and rolled over, back to the wall, and fell into a sleep cluttered with fragments of dreams and images.

When he opened his eyes, he was at work, wandering down the hallway leading to the limited access wing. He felt his pockets, and frowned as his badge wasn’t where he expected it to be. He walked up to the eye scan, and waited. Nothing happened. Growing impatient, he punched in the key code on the pad, and headed back to his desk, where he was sure he’d left his badge.

“Stop right there. Hands up!”

He jumped at the command, turning slowly to see a petite woman with pale, cropped hair and wide violet eyes, a determined scowl twisting her delicate features. She had a gun aimed at him, and he had none, so he raised his arms. “Is this some sort of training exercise?” he demanded. “You can’t draw a gun in here, miss!”

“Very funny.” She kept the gun leveled on him, as she withdrew her badge. “Patricia Billingham, Seven-O. And I don’t know who you are, but even if you work here, you’re trespassing in an area you really shouldn’t be. So no sudden moves, and maybe I won’t arrest you.”

“Wait! You-”

“Hey Buzzcut!”

Kirill managed to turn his head a fraction of an inch at the sound of Deana’s voice, and noticed that the woman had done the same.

“What the hell’s with the yelling?” she demanded, striding up to Kirill. “And who’s this.” She poked Kirill roughly in the ribs.

“An intruder.” Patricia said, holding her position. “Probably one of the guys from downstairs, but just in case...”

Deana looked down at him and smirked. “Yeah, you don’t belong up here, kid. Let’s see your ID.”

Kirill woke with a start, and with a shuddering breath, rubbed the tears from his eyes. _That... that’s the way it should have been, isn’t it?_


	5. Chapter 5

Doug leaned back against his pillow, working his way through a bottle of whiskey and leafing through a stack of snapshots of Kirill dressed as a bride. He wasn’t sure at the time just why he’d taken the envelope of photos from work, but now he was thinking that it was because he’d wanted him even then. In some shots Kirill was laughing and squirming as Valery and Deana fussed over the dress and his makeup, in others he posed as a serene beauty. There was one where his expression was determined, and Doug liked that one best. It was the expression he wore when he was certain that a bit of detective’s intuition would pay off. It was the expression he wore the split second before he argued with him. He put that picture aside and sighed, gazing up at the ceiling instead. _Kirill._

Ever since the night Kirill had stayed over, he’d been thinking about the way he felt in his arms, the way his body instinctively curled around him during the night, nudging under his chin and tangling his limbs with his own in an effort to move closer. He thought he’d grown used to sleeping alone, living alone, existing alone outside of his work. It only took one night to undo it all. He was was lonely.

He sighed, remembering a time that he’d been genuinely happy. He’d managed to convince Pat to stay with him, toward the end, and her presence transformed his space from a crash pad to a place he’d enjoyed spending time. It was a place where they would eat take out, watch movies, and talk for hours. Even the lights had seemed warmer when she was with him. The food tasted better. Life was worth living, and had seemingly endless potential.He remembered how proud he felt when she confessed to him that she thought of his apartment as her home, the way that home was _supposed_ to feel. The way no place she’d ever lived had felt, because none of those places had been safe and stable. None of those places had held the two of them together. He’d loved her. That was how he thought of it. He could give it a label and say that they were partners, that she was his best friend, and while those things were true...those labels somehow fell short and seemed too small for how much he cared for her, and no one could possibly understand that except for her, and now, possibly, Kirill.

They were inseparable within a week of meeting. Her determination to protect him spurred him to do the same. He could only do simple things for her: feed her, shelter her, listen to the things that she didn’t trust anyone else to tell. The way such small things made her so happy broke his heart, and he swore to himself that someday, she would have the life that she deserved. She was special.  Despite living in horrifying poverty and being raised by a string of well meaning addicts and crooks, she still believed that there was good in the world, and that it was worth fighting for. She believed in justice and order. She believed that a clueless young cop could be a hero, and she wanted to be one, too.

He’d wanted to help make that happen, wanted to see her eyes light up the first time she looked in a mirror and saw herself in uniform. Yet, if he were honest with himself, there was a part of him that wished that it would never end, not even once she fulfilled her potential. Maybe someday, she’d chose _him_ above all others, and he could spend the rest of his life with her, doing all that he could to make her happy; working, fighting, living beside her. _That_ was what he hadn’t been able to put into words, the entire time he tracked Esperanza, when he’d spent every waking moment tracking down Good Looking Joe so that he could gun him down with her name on his lips. It wasn’t just her future that he’d stolen, but _his,_ as well. He'd never see her shine the way she was supposed to. He would never talk to her, laugh with her again. His partner, his best friend... Every hope and dream was painfully torn from him, leaving a grieving shell of a man, one who no longer served any purpose but revenge.

Only Pat didn’t want that. She’d wanted him to be a hero, not a criminal. She wanted him to thrive, not suffer and fall into madness. So she intervened, and gave up justice so that she wouldn’t see him disgraced, demoted, and rotting in jail, because she loved him, too. And he’d been too stubborn and angry, too broken and outraged to realize what had happened, until Kirill put it into words. She was watching over him, protecting him, not just when he went into battle, but always. She must have worried over him for years. She must have hated seeing him in so much pain. And so, he would be a hero, for her... and not just her. Not anymore. Maybe the pain would never stop, but if he had Kirill, maybe it wouldn’t eat him alive.

Kirill, who had suffered so much, so young, and become an officer despite it all. Kirill, who went out of his way to help and comfort others, who saw justice in a way that was all too familiar... Kirill, whose heart shone as bright as the sun he was born on. He could do for Kirill what he’d dreamed of doing for Pat. He rested the photograph against his chest and closed his eyes. _Kirill._


	6. Chapter 6

Kirill sighed up at the steam in the shower, trying to sort through his problems. He was pretty sure that he was in love. Wasn’t that what the fluttery feeling in his chest was supposed to mean? Only, he was in love with  _ Doug _ , who was both his friend and his partner. Unattainable Doug, who had loved and lost and now didn’t let cases get personal- or much else. He didn’t blame him, really, who would want to go through that again and again? Wasn’t that why Doug had discouraged his sympathy toward Zabel, his emotional investment in the striking workers, or any number of other things that Doug had no compassion for? It was survival. You couldn’t stay on the job, and stay effective, if you let it get personal. 

Kirill was part of the job. 

He sighed, and stepped out of the tub, drying himself and climbing into his pajamas before throwing himself face down on his bed. If he pursued Doug, he might not only upset him, but he could damage their relationship as partners, too; and other than his relationship with Valery, there was really no other bond that was more important to him. He could really, really mess this up if he overstepped his boundaries. 

That was why he’d been making a conscious effort to rein himself in this week. He’d never realized just how often he casually touched Doug until he made an effort not to do it. No taps on his arm, no arm around his shoulder, no grasping his hands. Try not to lean in too close. Try not to stare too long. Try to focus on the job. Even so, he’d had a few unintentional slips, the worst of which happened on the way home, when he’d walked too close and felt his hip brush against Doug’s fingers. He’d jerked away before Doug could notice. 

He’d really, really been trying, for the sake of their partnership; which was why it was so frustrating that Doug had seemed especially annoyed with him this week, and harder to read than ever. 

Kirill was startled from his thoughts by the sound of his phone ringing, an unusual occurrence at his hour. Seeing that it was Max, he hurried to answer. “Max? Are you okay?”

“I’m fine.” she sighed. “I called so that you wouldn’t worry. Doug had an accident today, and has a mild concussion. Yuri and I are getting him settled in at home. He’s already been to the hospital and cleared for bed rest. I didn’t want you to hear and assume the worst...”

“An accident?” Kirill’s mind was stuck on that part, worried despite her words.  _ I wasn’t with him! What if- _

“He was helping Sophie reach some archived documents on a high shelf and lost his footing.” she supplied. “He's got a tender bump on the head and some bruising on his arm and knee. He’ll be fine. But I thought you should know.”

“I’m coming over.” he decided. “Thank you for taking care of him...”

He took a few minutes to jam some essentials into a backpack before dressing, and dashing down the stairs. “I’ll be back tomorrow!” he called, closing the door before he could be questioned. 

\--

“He’s in bed.” Max’s voice was quiet. “Just with a night light. He just needs low light and quiet until he feels he can handle more. He wasn’t able to eat earlier, but he’ll be hungry later, so feed him when it’s time to take his medicine. Every six hours, so in another three.” she noted, gesturing to the supplies neatly laid out of the table. “Yuri was going to stay with him, but if you want-”

“I’ll stay.” Kirill insisted. “You’ve done so much already.” In the short time the girls had been there, the kitchen was already organized and filled with food. Having Yuri watch him was probably the best idea- she didn’t get tired, after all- but Doug was  _ his _ partner.  “Thanks.”

Once they’d left, Kirill climbed the ladder to the sleeping area, and sat on the edge of the bed. “Hey.” he kept his voice soft. 

“...Kirill?” Doug’s voice sounded slurred as he turned to him. 

“Shh. Don’t sit up too fast, okay? Just relax. I’m going to stay and take care of you, okay?”

“Shouldn’t...come alone.”

“What?”

“If...anything.... It’d break me, Kirill.”

“Okay, don’t talk. Do you need anything? You can take your pills in three hours.”

“Stay.” Doug’s arms circled around him, pulling him down. 

“I’m staying.” Kirill managed to maneuver into a reasonably comfortable position, half lying down with Doug’s head on his chest. He couldn’t resist putting an arm around him and leaning just so that he could rest his nose in Doug’s messy hair. _So much for abstaining from contact,_ he thought, glumly. _I’m hopeless._ _But this is for him, too. He’s confused, and in pain..._ Kirill began to stroke his hair, gently. 

“That’s good.” Doug mumbled.

“Yeah?” Kirill gently slipped his fingers through the waves, tracing faint circles against his scalp. “Nasty bump you’ve got. Poor thing.” he half whispered.

“Mmph.” Doug’s eyes were closed, and a small sigh punctured his regular breathing.

_ He’s so, so beautiful. What am I doing to myself? _ Kirill bit his lip, and allowed his fingers to trail down the side of his partner’s cheek. He paused in shock, as he felt Doug’s lips shift, and press against his palm. When he finally allowed himself to exhale, Doug was still lightly dozing, with no indication that he was going to explain what had just happened. Kirill swallowed against a lump in his throat.   _ Are you thinking of her? I hope it’s a nice dream. _


	7. Chapter 7

Kirill slept fitfully, waking every few hours to give Doug his medicine, prod him with food, or help him to the bathroom. After a few solid hours of sleep in the early morning, he realized that he couldn’t stay in bed all day, even if Doug might need to. He decided to make himself useful and tidy up. It was probably the last thing that Doug would feel like doing, not feeling well; and Kirill didn’t want to leave him alone yet. Doug would probably appreciate it if he tidied up a bit. It wasn’t that Doug didn’t clean; the kitchen and bathroom were always respectable. It was just that he was _messy_ , especially with paper, and stacks of paper filled the entire apartment. Kirill suspected that he would have been like this no matter what, but all of these stacks and boxes of paper were research on Esperanza. Kirill used to think that the file Doug kept in the police car was obsessive until he came to realise that those were abridged notes, and that the files that crowded his desk and the archives at work spilled over into his personal space.

  
Taking care not to disturb the order of the papers, Kirill straightened the files and stacked he boxes against a wall. Doug could put them right back, but he’d have a freshly swept floor to put them on. He ought to do the laundry, too.... but first, more boxes. He never actually went into the back of Doug’s apartment because of all of it. Did he even need it all, now that most of Esperanza was gone? Kirill wished that Doug could have a home free from the awful reminders, but Doug would probably fight him on it. Best to let him have his files.

  
There was a decorative screen behind them all, the sort that divided rooms, and it was actually rather pretty. There was light behind it, too. Maybe he could use the screen to hide some of the clutter and let in some sunlight at the same time. Maybe he’d buy Doug a plant sometime...

  
The mess stopped abruptly behind the screen, and became small but tidy space by the back window, containing a daybed and a chest of drawers. Neat stacks of manga covered the surface of the chest. It seemed odd enough for Doug, but those were... shoujo manga. Kirill felt his stomach drop as he realized what he was looking at. He was in an approximation of a girl’s room, crammed into the back of Doug’s apartment.

  
Holding his breath, he cracked open the top drawer, just to be sure. Neatly folded socks and underwear in pastel hues greeted him, and in the small tray typically meant to empty one’s pockets at the end of the day was a silver pendant. Kirill didn’t have to look close to know what it was. Medallions of the Lisveletta Police Department logo were popular good luck charms, especially among female officers. They were often sweetheart gifts, meant to carry the well wishes of a loved one into a dangerous job. Beside it was a lock of hair: a pale, silky blue. Kirill felt a lump forming in his throat, and swallowed around it, feeling his eyes burn. _Thirteen bullets..._ It must have been a present. And Doug had gotten it back, knowing that not even good luck meant a damn thing in the end.

  
Doug had done all of this for her, made a corner of his world a home for a girl who had never had one. He must have chosen everything from the bed sheets to the clothing, guessing what she would like. He’d kept it all the same for eight years: the clothing that would never been worn again, the manga he would never read, not a speck of dust, even as his obsession with Esperanza reached its tendrils across his home, covering every surface in chaos. This tiny, calm space was devoid of it all, well maintained and spotless, as if on some level he couldn’t accept that she wasn’t ever coming back.

  
Kirill barely remembered the time before he and Valery had a home, but they were unpleasant memories, always too cold or hot, always hungry, never safe. They might not have had much growing up, but their grandpa made sure that they were never cold or hungry before he even thought of himself. He wondered if he’d even be alive if he hadn’t taken pity on the two of them. Sometimes he wondered just why he’d taken them in, what he possibly could have gotten out of using his paltry pension and time on two grubby children who weren’t even related to him. Knowing Doug now, he supposed he had an inkling of it. It meant enough to Doug to almost destroy him. Thinking of Doug so heartbroken and alone made tears well up in his eyes, and the tightness in his chest broke, overwhelming him with unexpected emotion. Kneeling on the floor, he pressed his face into the daybed to muffle the sobs that he couldn’t contain, trying to be as quiet as possible. He rid himself of the worst of it, before forcing himself to take deep breaths and force his expression back to a neutral one. He wouldn’t be any good to Doug this way, and Doug needed him right now.

  
Kirill left the room as it was. He pulled the hamper to the small washing machine, and began to sort through the clothes. Maybe he couldn’t fix the things that had broken Doug in ways he never spoke of, but he could be a good partner, and take care of him now. He set the washer for the first load and considered the rest. The suit jacket Doug had been wearing when he fell was covered in dust, the thick sort that seemed to gather underfoot in storage areas, no matter how clean they seemed. Kirill slapped at the fabric a few times, but failed to dislodge the grime. It would have to go to the dry cleaner. He emptied the pockets of spare change, two paper clips, and what he was pretty certain was a smoke bomb, being careful to not press any buttons. Something crinkled in the inner breast pocket, and Kirill removed the paper absently, pausing when he saw a bit of color. His own image stared back at him resolutely, brows drawn together under a wedding veil.

  
_What?_

  
Kirill frowned at the photo. Why did Doug have this, and why was he carrying it around? For that matter, where had he even gotten it from? Deana and Valery had both taken pictures, but he didn’t think that either of them had printed any out. It had to be some sort of a prank, knowing Doug.

  
He startled as he heard movement behind him as Doug shuffled across the room from the bathroom.

  
“Why didn’t you call me for help? You can’t even walk straight yet.” he scolded, leaving the photograph forgotten on the table.

  
“I’m... a little better.” Doug protested.

  
“No, you’re not. Let me help you back in bed.”

  
“Mph.” Doug grunted, in agreement.

  
Kirill helped him back into bed, and was about to go back to the laundry before Doug caught his wrist in his hand.

  
“Stay.” Doug sighed drowsily, and Kirill didn’t have the strength to argue. He settled down beside him, hyper aware of the feeling of Doug’s hand still clasping over his own.


	8. Chapter 8

By the middle of the second day Doug’s head stopped spinning, and while he was still sore, a bit of light and motion weren’t out of the question. As long as he stayed relatively still and took his medicine it was bearable, even enjoyable now that Kirill was close by his side, the warmth of his thigh under the covers pressing against him. He was wearing a borrowed t shirt and sweatpants that were much too loose on him, making him look small and delicate in a way that made Doug feel a possessive warmth in his chest.  They spent the day in his bed, watching old police dramas and eating take out food. Doug wasn’t surprised that Kirill was a fan, and had strong opinions on each movie that came on. He spent more time watching Kirill watching the television than paying attention to the screen. It wasn't only because he was beautiful, though Doug often enjoyed the sight. It was the ebb and flow of expressions that fascinated him as Kirill’s emotions washed across his face. Kirill had a passionate nature, and it was charmingly transparent. Spending time with Kirill felt natural. He felt peaceful here with him, the way he’d spent so many weekends with Pat. 

“What?” Kirill asked suspiciously, noticing his soft smile. 

“You’re as pretty as a girl.” Doug smirked, watching Kirill go red, flustered from the compliment as well as annoyed with the familiar teasing. 

“You’re impossible.” Kirill huffed, leaning back against the wall. 

“Thank you for staying with me.” Doug added, quietly, gazing at the screen.

“I’m your partner.” Kirill mumbled, looking down. 

“I need you.” Doug replied, just as shyly.

“Why do you say things like that?” Kirill managed, looking unsure if he was still being teased. 

Doug turned to face him. “Because it’s important to let you know, sometimes. And last night, I could tell that something was bothering you.” As dazed as he’d been, it was hard to not notice the redness and swelling around Kirill’s eyes. 

Kirill’s slender fingers tightened in the blanket on his lap. “I was worried about you.”

“I’ll be fine.” Doug said, to give Kirill a chance to assume he thought he meant the injury, and to move on if he wanted to. “We can talk about it if you want to.” he added, seeing Kirill’s hesitation. 

“I was cleaning and I found her things.” Kirill’s voice was calm, though he stared away rather than meeting his eyes. 

“Does it bother you?” Doug asked, cautiously. He didn’t like the topic at all, but had suspected something of the sort. 

“I... it bothered me to think about what you lost. What she lost.” Kirill’s voice was shaky. “And that you...hurt so much. Still. And...” Kirill sighed, looking lost for where to start.

Doug let out a sigh. He’d expected some form of jealousy, but that wasn’t the sort of person that Kirill was. Pat had been the same, always thinking of others first. 

“I don’t know if I’ll ever be ready to let it go.” he admitted. It felt strange speaking about it aloud, sharing it with anyone. He’d never said a word, before Kirill. It was a relief to trust someone enough to talk about any of it, though he probably shouldn’t be saying a thing. Kirill had always wanted a close bond to form between them, and lately, it was becoming more and more obvious that he wanted that bond to be physical and romantic, as well; though equally as obvious that he wouldn’t be the one to make the first move.  He hated that this topic could hurt Kirill, but there was really no avoiding it if he was going to take what he wanted, and he wanted Kirill more and more every day.

“That’s okay.” Kirill said, turning to him. “I don’t think I could let someone I love go, either. Not like that.” He took a deep, shuddering breath. “I want to know about her. About both of you. If you’re ready.” Kirill turned to him, his face determined, his eyes unsure, vulnerable. 

“Okay.” Doug agreed, reaching for Kirill’s hand.  _ I owe him this much.  _ Kirill’s fingers tightened around his own, encouragingly. “I don’t know where to start.” he admitted. 

“It doesn’t have to all be at once.” Kirill gave him an encouraging look. “I mean... i just want you to be comfortable talking about her to me. Whenever you want.” 

“She was a lot like you.” Doug admitted. “Not... in every way. But I think that you would have been good friends.” 

Kirill nodded, looking a little surprised by the admission. 

“I convinced her to live here, when things got really bad. I wanted to take care of her. That’s all I ever wanted, really... I mean, it was good for me, too. She made me happy. We used to sit like this all the time, and just talk for hours. She saved my life the first day I met her. I was going to work a sting, and I would have been killed the moment I set foot in there. She was he one who warned me. And after that.... well. I wanted to give that life she saved to her. I never knew anyone like her before. It was like something just  _ clicked,  _ you know, like being struck by lightning. I just knew somehow that it was going to be a lifelong thing.”

Kirill nodded. “You were really in love, huh?” 

“I don’t know if...”

“I know you’re not a pervert or anything.” Kirill hurried to add. 

Doug laughed. “She would have punched my lights out if I’d tried. If  _ anyone _ tried. But I guess... I did love her. And I did want to stay with her, forever. Maybe someday, if we’d had our futures together, I might have married her, if I was good enough for her to choose me. Anything would have been her choice. But I did try to be a better person, for her, even if we’d stayed nothing more than friends. We were a family, in a weird way.” Doug sighed, looking down. “I never felt like I could say any of this before.” Doug felt his throat closing up, and hs chest tightening. 

“You can say anything to me. I’m your partner.” Kirll’s face was so open and trusting, so willing to absorb his pain and give comfort in return. 

“Yeah. You are.” Doug grinned, weakly. He slipped an arm around Kirill’s waist. “Is this okay?”

“Yeah.” Kirill blushed as he nodded.  Doug’s hand settled on his hip, and he squeezed gently. 

“I’ve never had love and sex at the same time before.” he mused. “I wonder how many people get to?”

“I haven’t.” Kirill admitted, quietly. “I don’t think I would want sex without love.”

“Were you ever in love before?”

“I... um. Not really...” 

Doug smirked. “You walked right into that one.” 

“You!” Kirill crossed his arms. “ _ Maybe  _ I’ve been in love.” he added. 

“Have you?” 

“Wouldn’t you like to know.” snapped Kirill. 

Doug laughed, and pulled Kirill closer. “Thanks for letting me talk about it.” he murmured, turning back to the television. He thought that maybe the burden felt a little bit lighter, now that he'd begun to give a voice to the knot of emotions that had become an integeral part of him. Kirill was now half on his lap, and leaning against his shoulder. He didn’t want to think anymore, just feel the reassuring weight of Kirill’s body in his arms. 


	9. Chapter 9

Kirill paused in writing his report for the seventeenth time that afternoon, scowling across the room where Doug was fixing his coffee. For three days, he’d stayed with Doug, most of that time tucked under his arm. Those strong arms had gripped him tight as he slept with his head tucked under Doug’s chin; his nose pressed into the soft cotton of his t shirt, smelling of clean laundry and his warm skin beneath it.  Kirill ended the weekend walking on clouds, but now that they were back at work, it was like nothing had ever happened, even when they were out together tracking suspects. Doug was being Doug. Work-Doug. Like Doug who hadn’t had his hand on Kirill’s hip for three hours on Sunday afternoon. Kirill had been so ecstatic that he’d failed to account for the fact that they hadn’t even kissed. Maybe he was exaggerating things in his mind because he wanted him so much...

“I’ll walk you home.”

Kirill’s attention snapped back to reality. “Right!” he agreed, hurrying to turn off his computer and gather his things. Four days of this, now. Doug would stop to buy them a sandwich to share and he’d consider saying something, anything, but the moment would inevitably pass. They’d end up at his doorstep, and Kirill would look up into those serious green eyes, and he’d try to gather the courage to maybe stand on his toes and lean in, and Doug would pat his shoulder and _wave._ Like an _asshole._

But that was all his own fault, really. He was the one who couldn’t bridge the gap.

Kirill mulled this over as Doug handed him half of a cheesesteak wrapped in wax paper with a sigh, following him the rest of the way home.

“Are you busy tomorrow night?” Doug asked, as they approached his door.

“No... do you want to...?”

“Dinner.” Doug said, with a smirk. “I want to properly thank you for taking care of me. Someplace nice. Not just some chain joint this time?”

“I...” Kirill felt his excitement clenching his throat. “Yes! I mean, thank you... er... but the last place _was_ nice.”

Doug winked at him. “I’ll pick you up at seven.”

Kirill’s heart was pounding as he closed the door behind him. He actually _winked_ . Did people _do_ that in real life?

“Yes!” Kirill cried, dashing up the stairs to his room. He had a date, an actual, planned in advance, dress up _date._

\---

“A date?” Valery asked. “Of course I’ll help you. But why do you want to wear makeup?”

“It’s fancy.” Kirill said. He couldn’t stop thinking about the photo he’d found in Doug’s pocket. Maybe he really liked that. Maybe it would give him an edge.

“So?” Valery laughed. “Can’t plain Kirill go to a fancy dinner?”

“I need to borrow something to wear, too.” Kirill said, blushing. “I don’t really own any really nice clothes. I just... I want to be beautiful for him, just once.”

“You already are. Always.” Valery grinned. “But I’ll help you, if that’s what you want. Let’s get you something that really suits you.”

\---

Kirill pulled the soft, pale sweater over his head, careful to not smudge his makeup on the gossamer weave. In the end, he’d gone for subtlety- just a dusting of pink on his cheeks and enhancing the shadows of his eyes, like Valery had taught him. A bit of clear gloss across his lips pulled the look together. Valery had also insisted on treating him to a new outfit, probably worth more than the rest of his clothing put together. It was just a sweater and slacks, but the fabric was quality, and it showed. Maybe he wasn’t a bride today, but he _was_ wearing all white. Hopefully it would have the same effect on Doug that that picture seemed to, or that he hoped it did.

He forgot all about his own outfit when he saw Doug, though. He’d assumed that he’d look much like he always did, as he usually wore a suit to work. This was somehow nicer, though Kirill couldn’t quite pinpoint why. Maybe he just looked less rumpled.

“Wow.” Doug managed, raking his eyes across Kirill, who barely resisted the urge to preen under the unusual attention. “Shall we?” Doug extended his arm, and Kirill took the offer, enjoying the theatrics.

Doug brought him to a cozy yet obviously pricey cafe that was unlike any place Kirill had been before. The plush upholstered booths  were circular, and had walls so high that he felt that they were alone among the soft music and candlelight. The food was delicious, and the drinks were strong. It had all of the trappings of a romantic date, but he and Doug were just... as they always were together, and Kirill felt a warmth in his chest at the thought. It just felt right. _Too_ right. Kirill frowned to himself, watching for a clue that Doug was going to do something at his expense, only it never happened.

“I thought you were going to do something back there again.” Kirill admitted, as they stepped out into the cool night air. “Or was making me wait for the teasing your form of teasing tonight?”

“Can’t I ever just be a nice guy?”

“You?” Kirill laughed.

“I just wanted to do something for you...” Doug trailed off, looking down into his eyes.

“Then do something.” Kirill whispered.

And Doug leaned down, and brushed his lips against his, pausing for the briefest moment before closing in for a deeper kiss. A small whimper came from the back of Kirill’s throat as he reached up, lacing his arms around Doug’s shoulders.

“Wow.” Kirill gasped, as they separated.

Doug laughed, and took his hand, intertwining their fingers with a quick squeeze before they began waking again. Reality slowly came back into focus as they approached his neighborhood.

“Hey, beautiful! Where you been my whole life?”

Kirill startled, but kept walking.

“Wanna get you a real man?” A second voice called.

Kirill sighed, and walked past the group of bored teenagers. _This again, huh._

“You deaf, ugly bitch?”

“Aay, get back here and suck my dick!” raucous laughter arose from the group, and Kirill kept walking, rolling his eyes, until Doug broke his grip on his hand and spun on his heel.

“Oooh! He’s coming!” shrieked one of them in laughter, and Kirill barely managed to grab Doug’s arm and yank him back in time.

“What the hell are you doing? Come on!” Kirill snapped at him. “It’s just a bunch of dumb kids!”

Doug let out a hiss of a breath, but quickly composed himself, and nodded, grabbing Kirill’s hand and walking at a fast clip to the end of the block.

 _Honestly_ , Kirill thought, with a sigh. He couldn’t let something like that ruin their perfect night, so he squeezed Doug’s hand in encouragement as they approached his door. He looked up, intending to give Doug a proper goodnight kiss, only to see that Doug still looked upset. Shaken, even, not just angry.

“Why don’t you come inside?” Kirill offered instead, pressing his palm against Doug’s cheek. “I don’t want tonight to end yet.”


End file.
